


Oceanography

by Teacake (CowrooNagaysa)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: EVENTUAL EVERYTHING I GUESS, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Grinding, M/M, Making Out, Marking, Mild Blood and Gore, Riding, TAKE ME TO CHURCH, and i'm ashamed, mild grinding, more cyberpunk shance but this time with werewolves, probably going to be more grinding and blood and gore if this goes the way i want it to, some of these things haven't happened yet but jesus christ they're going to, this is slowly becoming sin i can't believe it, weird way of starting it i know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowrooNagaysa/pseuds/Teacake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werewolves were genetically modified soldiers used to win a war long, long ago. However, after victory, they were cast aside and became something of second class citizens. Lance has been placed in the position of studying them in a government facility, escorted and protected by a Werewolf security guard by the name of Takashi Shirogane. A very beautiful Werewolf that Lance can't help but find himself drawn to. Yet the closer they get, the more Lance knows of the darkness behind Shiro's kind demeanor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Werewolves were not people, a fact duly stressed by the Ruling Party. 

Werewolves were abominations, soldiers no longer needed in a war long ago won. Though they were the reason why they had won

Lance hadn’t thought he’d ever hold a job with werewolves. 

He had graduated from college years ago, having held a job at an aquarium as a marine biologist afterwards. He had graduated with a double major in oceanography and astronomy. It astounded most, for when one looked at Lance, they gained not the impression of someone of outstanding intellect, though Lance had always preferred it that way. Though he was not opposed to grandstanding, he found that doing it solely based on intelligence was ridiculous. But such was neither here nor there, the focus being on that of employment.

He had been content with his job at the aquarium, conducting various studies on marine life, until he had been contacted by the Ruling Party for a job at their main building.

They’d wanted someone of his skills to work for them.

Lance had been sorry to part with the job at the aquarium, though the job offered to him paid substantially more than the aquarium and the advance if he accepted had been just as generous. It had been enough for him to afford a better apartment in the city with luxuries he hadn’t before. 

His mother had always taught him, however, that high paying jobs were a lot of work with a larger salary to accommodate the stress of it. Lance hadn’t minded the government job, however, though hadn’t expected it to involve Werewolves.

They had wanted him to study them, which he had found ridiculous, for Werewolves were a far cry from oceans and celestial bodies. Or, so he had thought, until the situation had been explained. They had desired an individual knowledgeable about the moon to yield more information about Werewolves. Apparently the study of the moon and how it had affected the tides as well as his knowledge of celestial bodies in general had accommodated such a preference.

To think, people had called his double major ridiculous when he had proposed it.

The moon held power over Werewolves, such had been noted years and years ago, though to what extent, it was uncertain. Werewolves could become their dog selves at will, though it was yet to be known how the moon might have affected such a cycle.

Lance truly hadn’t anticipated what the job would entail, yet they had given him a higher level clearance to their building than he had ever thought he would hold. He had been steadfast in his work, however, examining the data they already held and attempting to find connections. 

But such was not the change of his life itself. It had brought him towards the change, yet not quite there. Change had arrived in the form of a personal security guard by the name of Takashi Shirogane, who was the most beautiful man Lance had ever seen, and quite a Werewolf. Not that such had stifled Lance’s attraction. 

  
Lance hadn’t known, however, that the man would show him more of life than he’d thought possible.


	2. Fatal Attraction

In propaganda, they’d always said that all Werewolves were horrid. Though it was not explicitly said, it was implied, especially with the Werewolves they used upon their posters, often times their looking grimy and uncollected.

Yet when Lance met Takashi Shirogane, his new bodyguard, he rather felt that if they had been using _him_ on Werewolf posters, then everybody would have fallen in love with them. He was beautiful, tall and muscular with dark hair with a shock of white forelock. Though there was a scar across the bridge of his nose, Lance did not think that detracted from his beauty.

Lance hadn’t realized, however, how sensitive his work was, how secret the information as he looked at Werewolf statistics, until they had assigned him a bodyguard. He hadn’t thought it so shocking, only studying how Werewolves shifted during certain phases of the moon, and attempting to figure out what it was that forced them to turn on full moons against their free will. It was all complicated guesswork that Lance hadn’t thought so important until they had permitted him to take files back and forth, stored on the wristwatch that every citizen possessed. Once they had let him do such a thing, that was when they had introduced Takashi Shirogane.

Knowing he was a Werewolf had been easy, for he had a collar around his neck. It was a sleek, black thing with nothing extraordinary about it except for the purple, glowing slit on its front. Every Werewolf held such a collar of identification, it was mandated, even for children. Lance was simply relieved that his Werewolf guard was not Muzzled. Muzzled Werewolves frightened him the most. They were usually aggressive and used for jobs of protection and law enforcement with thicker collars and a contraption on the front of their face known as muzzles. If they got too aggressive, the muzzle would release a chemical that would put the Werewolf to sleep. Their collars were also modified, able to electrocute them should those monitoring them not be satisfied with their performance. Muzzled Werewolves were the most dangerous, though Shiro was tame, and for that, he was grateful. Lance had seen Muzzled Werewolves throughout the building, accompanying scientists and was more than relieved that the guard assigned to him was not of such an ilk. He would have been frightened if he was.

But Takashi Shirogane (he had told Lance to call him “Shiro”), was kind and beautiful and different in regards to every Werewolf stereotype. He regarded Lance with warm, gray eyes as he sat in his office, perfectly coordinated and graceful with each movement, whether it be simple or elaborate. Lance had always thought Werewolves clumsy, for they had been genetically modified to be larger than humans, yet Shiro moved with grace, poise, and purpose. Lance felt intimidated, forced to reflect upon his own, tall, gangly stature.

Still, he smiled easily. That morning, he had heard of a guard being assigned to him, had been told how such would function, that he would be escorted to and from home by the guard under all work-related circumstances. If it were on his own time, say, going to the grocery store, then he was fine, needing not a guard. The Ruling Party took into account a great many precautions, having been given a second wristband just for work that he was only to wear going to and from work. It had taken Lance a bit to acclimate towards switching between wristbands, though he had eventually learned. The Ruling Party wristband for employees resembled Shiro’s collar, sleek and black though with various, purple slits all around its circumference. It was of a cool, fine metal, thicker than the looks of Shiro’s collar. It was beautiful to look at, yet in knowing the classified information it carried filled Lance with a sense of anxiousness, for the information he held was worth more than his weight in gold.

“I’m sure they debriefed you,” said Shiro pleasantly. “But I can always go over what it is I’m supposed to do for you again, I don’t mind. I’m sure they threw a lot of information at your, Mr. McClain.”

“Mr. McClain?” repeated Lance, running a hand through his own hair with a soft laugh. He had propped himself against a wall, having thoughtfully regarded Shiro, and then his prosthetic. Silently, he wondered if Shiro had served. Though the war that had prompted the engineering of Werewolves had ended, they were still used as soldiers. “Mr. McClain?” he asked again. “No, no, that’s my dad. Lance is fine. If I’m calling you ‘Shiro’, then you’re calling me ‘Lance’. We can drop the formalities, especially since I’m going to be seeing you every day now, sometimes even on weekends.”

Shiro nodded. “Roger that, but do you need to be debriefed again?”

“No, I remember it all pretty clearly, no worries. Just… getting used to the thought of a guard following me around. Am I going to need you when I’m around other Werewolves? The subjects in this building, I mean.”

“Yes, just as an added safety measure.”

Lance silently wondered if Shiro was alright with working in a building where he knew his kin were experimented on. It was not that Lance did not think of Werewolves as people, it was simply easier not to reflect upon the morality of performing experiments on people who looked very much human. That was the issue with Werewolves, they looked exactly human, identified only by the collar that they wore around their neck.  It was also not as if Lance’s tests were especially cruel, it was all questions about their shifting, though he knew that although he, personally, might not have been giving the more unsightly tests, they were still happening.

Awkwardly, he directed his gaze around his office. It was spacious and minimal, with a clean, white floor, clean, white walls, a clean, white desk, and clean, white chairs. It was all clean and white and immaculate and perfect. His desk, however, was messy with notes and coffee stains and coffee mugs and books. It was the only mess in the otherwise perfect room. It was a large office, larger than what he’d had in the aquarium, and at the end of it, there was a large window that overlooked the gardens of the facility. They had gardens to calm the more anxious Werewolves. Beautiful lush, green, genetically modified gardens with a crystalline pond at its center. They called it a garden though it seemed more of a park. Why it had been built seemed almost kind, though something about the garden made Lance uneasy, perhaps because he knew that Werewolves were often tested on and interrogated to a point of stress to where they needed the garden to relieve it.

Lance did not like to think himself an exceptionally cruel person and attempted to justify the actions of the facility. It was all to understand Werewolves better and to eventually assist them. It was a calming thought that grounded him. It was all in the pursuit of knowledge and refinement, yes, of course.

“Right. I look forward to working with you, Shiro. Take good care of me,” Lance grinned playfully, tearing his gaze away from the window.

“Do you want to go out into the gardens?”

“No, not really. Just… looking at it. It’s pretty, isn’t it? I’ve never seen flowers that bright. Genetic engineering is really something. I didn’t study it, seemed too complex. Oceanography and astronomy suited me better. Problem is, I didn’t think I’d end up studying Werewolves, so now I’m really regretting not learning about it more.” He was babbling, he knew, but he needed to keep his mind off of the unease forming in his stomach. The job paid so well that ditching it didn’t seem to be the wise thing to do, yet still, he was uneasy about it all.

“I don’t think you need it for your research though,” said Shiro in calm reassurance. Lance could not help but smile. So briefly, they had known each other, yet somehow Shiro knew exactly what to say to put him at ease. His gaze drifted back towards Shiro, who really was quite attractive. It still struck Lance, for he really had never seen someone as appealing as Shiro before. He scolded himself mentally, for he knew better than to flirt with someone he worked with. Flirting in general, he held no qualms with, often with sweet words to say to a woman (or man, on occasion), yet even he knew he needed to strive for a certain degree of professionalism. That, and it was hardly as if  Werewolf-human relationships were socially acceptable. To even think of asking Shiro out on a date was asking for social ridicule. His friend Hunk dated a Werewolf by the name of Shay, and though Lance himself was not prejudiced against Werewolf-human relationships, he had seen the scrutiny his friend underwent daily in his choice of partner. Lance didn’t want the same for himself.

“You’re right, Shiro.” Lance yawned wearily. It was still only the morning yet he wished to return home and rest. “So, what now? We’re introduced. Unless you want to tell me more about yourself. I think they gave you my file, but I don’t know a lot about you.”

“Maybe another time,” Shiro replied, rising from his seat easily. “I have to let my superiors know I’ve successfully met you. Wait for me at the main entrance and I’ll walk you home.”

Lance nodded, “yeah, go ahead. I’ve still got research to work on, anyways. You guys are really hard to learn about, you know. Do you mind telling me how the hell you guys work?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.”

“It was worth a shot.”

 

* * *

 

Lance had thought of Shiro all day. Shiro was a moral dilemma with a beautiful face. Lance did not like to think himself a deviant, for the Ruling Party would have done away with him if he was. Werewolves were not, explicitly, second class citizens, yet they were not perceived to be of the same worth as humans. Werewolf neighborhoods were often far away and in poorer condition than human ones. Werewolves that wished to have an education had a hard time acquiring it, few universities giving them a chance unless they had a wealthy human backing them. Lance could count on both hands, without using all of his fingers, the amount of Werewolves he had seen at his university. Werewolves were also more likely to be trafficked, the Werewolf trade very much alive, and the Ruling Party, their government, turned a blind eye to it all. A Werewolf that was not part of the military was immediately treated as lesser, for they had been, quite literally, genetically engineered for war, holding more physical strength than the average human. Why they had turned them into dogs, Lance was not entirely certain, though everything done to them had helped them win a war long, long ago, and though years from the war had passed, the discrimination hadn’t.

It was easy to distance one’s self from a Werewolf, they were usually so hostile around humans that it was easy to feel apathetic towards them, yet Shiro was a different case, and whenever Lance thought of him, he felt inexplicably guilty.

He was feeling the guilt weigh in his stomach heavily at the sight of Shiro waiting for him in the main lobby. He was dressed in slacks and a button-up neatly worn, dress shoes on his feet. His white forelock had been slicked back, and though he had looked like that earlier, Lance had been thinking of his face and prosthetic too much to mind his outfit. The only difference in his appearance then being the coat around his shoulders. The cold season was beginning to roll in, after all.

Lance heard the pleasant hum of a piano in the lobby, the desks monitored by bored receptionists and a fountain in the middle of the room. Thick, red rugs covered a good portion of the floor. It looked luxurious, different to the clean, white, simplicity of his own office.

He approached Shiro, fiddling with the last buttons on his own coat. It was at seeing Shiro and knowing why he was accompanying him that made him nervous, suddenly feeling the cold weight of his wristband, suddenly noticing it, really. He could have easily left it at work, yet there was still more he wished to investigate on his own time, hence his bringing it, hence his needing a guard.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lance’s apartment building was beautiful, a far cry from the simple one he had lived in during his time with the aquarium. Outside of it, Lance contemplated something he hadn’t thought he would ever. His apartment building was not exactly Werewolf friendly. Though it did not explicitly state the presence of Werewolves was not permitted, it was a nice enough establishment that it was assumed. Things of a more genteel nature were thought not to suit Werewolves, things of a lower quality thought more fitting for them. In truth, Lance felt pretentious, though he had never considered himself someone exceptionally wealthy and above others. He had come from a large family, had often been set in his place by others, and though he exuded confidence and a bright disposition, he did not give way to complete arrogance. However, in contemplating whether Shiro should or should not be invited inside against societal expectations, he suddenly felt pretentious and privileged and even more guilty. He could not conceive why he felt guilty, for Shiro had done nothing to guilt him, their conversation on their walk to Lance’s home mundane and pleasant yet unremarkable. Shiro had done nothing to belittle his character yet Lance somehow felt worse about himself.

He turned towards Shiro, who looked ready to excuse and dismiss himself. Lance held up his hand, shaking his head, as if to beckon him to stay. “Hey, you wanna maybe stay bit at my place? I mean, not sleep there but… uh… it’s cold and… you’re escorting me… I know it’s your job but I want to… pay you back?”

Shiro looked towards him, puzzled, brows furrowed together as he looked for something proper to say in reply. His gaze scanned the apartment complex’s doors, and Lance knew exactly what he was looking for. Although it was technically illegal to say where Werewolves could and could not go, still, certain signs were in place that chronicled guidelines of conduct for one to even enter a premise, often times the guidelines warped and manipulated in such a way so that Werewolves could not enter. No sign was upon the doors, yet it was assumed that in a place so nice, that Werewolves would know better than to approach it.

Lance grabbed Shiro’s hand, as if to anchor him, and pushed open the doors to his apartment complex, leading Shiro inside and dragging him into the elevator despite the stares of those coming in as well. Lance could only exhale with in relief once the elevator’s doors shut. He relinquished Shiro’s hand, pushing in the number to his floor and hearing the automated elevator voice acknowledge their destination.

“You didn’t have to go this far,” Shiro sighed. “It’s my job to escort you.”

“Yeah, well, I bought too much hot chocolate anyways. I can’t drink it all myself.”

Shiro looked at him in more confusion, as if processing Lance’s words. Soon, his expression settled into its usual placidity, smile a bit wider than usual, however. Lance stepped out once the elevator’s doors opened, moving down the hall before unlocking his apartment. Unlocking being the drag of a wristband over the digital scanner that every building held outside of its door. Or, most of them did, nowadays. Lance was simply impressed that the Ruling Party’s wristband held his apartment code. The door clicked, indicating that it was ready to be opened, and Lance obliged, swinging it open and staring at his apartment. It was spacious and tidy, with large windows that overlooked the city. It wasn’t quite a la mode, but it was big and comfortable and all Lance really needed.

He kicked his shoes off by the door and threw his coat onto the coat rack, Shiro followed suit but with more graceful movements and in a more organized fashion. Lance moved towards the kitchen, instructing the coffeemaker that it prepare hot chocolate. The kitchen hummed to life, doing as it was told. Lance adored technology, it made life all the easier. Working with the aquarium, though it had paid well, he hadn’t been able to afford certain, technological comforts, though now he had them, able to instruct his kitchen to prepare food for him and how his shower ought to run. It was all quite wonderful, really, and Lance could only wonder what other technologies existed.

The kitchen and the living room were connected, separated by a large, metallic counter. When he turned to regard Shiro, he saw that he had awkwardly seated himself upon the couch, as if uncertain on what to do, gray eyes darting around the room.

It did not take long for the kitchen to finish preparing the hot chocolate, and Lance had it poured into two, different mugs. He approached Shiro, gingerly extending one for him to take before moving to sit near him. It was awkward and tense. They were breaking many societal norms. Werewolves did not usually enter human homes, or, it was best to avoid entrance. Though it was not taboo, most did not accommodate it, even if they had the Werewolves work for them. It was the idea of not wanting something pure, such as a home, tainted by somethings so filthy, such as a Werewolf. Lance hadn’t thought much of the practice and had thought it ridiculous, certain family friends Werewolves, though Shiro must have known the social norms. Hell, he lived them, felt that prejudice day in and day out.

Uneasily, Lance held the mug towards his lips, wishing to apologize to Shiro for the uncomfortable position he had placed him within, for it was most likely unprecedented in his life, Shiro ill-prepared to handle such different treatment. Lance permitted the warm, brown liquid to seep past his lips, reveling in its sweet taste as he thought of something to say. He truly did wish to apologize, the sensation of guilt in him somehow having grown greater at what he had done to Shiro.

Shiro’s next words, however, he hadn’t anticipated.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“For inviting me in, I didn’t expect you to. This has to be hard on you,” Shiro said, drinking some of his own hot chocolate. The cold flush from outside slowly slid away from his cheeks, which Lance felt sorry for. He had thought a flushed Shiro was an even more attractive Shiro. Lance felt the knot in his stomach subside, however, upon the thanks. Shiro spoke so gently and so kindly that it put Lance at ease for his ridiculous decision.

“It’s not hard on me. Don’t know why it would be,” came his next words, doing his best to feign nonchalance.

Shiro hesitated and Lance thought it best to add more to his statement. They both knew why it would be hard on Lance.

“I mean, you’re nice, and we’re working together, and people working together hang out sometimes, right? Plus, this is a good time to learn more about you since we’ll be working together, is what I’m saying. So, I don’t think it’s… you know…” Lance was babbling again. Awkwardly, he placed the mug back down onto the table.

“Oh.” Shiro smiled a bit wider. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Anything you want to tell me.”

The Werewolf paused thoughtfully. “I guess it’s best to start with the basics. My name is Takashi Shirogane, I grew up with a human father and a werewolf mother. We lived in a human area, but not without ridicule.” His smile seemed almost rueful, for a moment. “I served in the military, briefly, and now I work for the Ruling Party as a Werewolf guard.”

Lance made note of everything he said, even if it was mundane and basic. He wanted to learn more about Shiro. In Shiro’s eyes, he saw knowledge, depths he had never seen in another person. The prosthetic arm made him curious, his past made him curious, his shifting made him curious, everything made him curious.

 

Silently, he worried if he was developing a fatal attraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I do want to do more with this!! But feedback would be super appreciated! I just don't know if people would even be interested in more of this since genetically engineered war Werewolves in cyberpunk society is a very weird concept.


	3. Lockdown

Takashi Shirogane was positively fascinating and Lance had written everything he’d learned about him from that night in his journal. A month had passed, their seeing each other constant and frequent. He was fairly certain he was developing some sort of fatal attraction, yet had argued with himself that there was no shame in being in awe of something so powerful. That was what Takashi Shirogane was, powerful. Broad-shouldered, werewolf power that was somehow indescribably beautiful.

Lance could not help but think of him often, gaze drifting over more statistics that meant nothing to him. He had studied oceanography and astronomy, and though he recollected taking a few classes on biology, it had all been information sparsely delivered. Or, at least, he did not remember it very well. Fingers shuffled through more statistics, more files, all delivered to his private office. Another thing Lance had been trying to get used to, having a private office. Apparently there were others researching the very same thing he was, yet contact between them had been minimal. Another scientist, one by the name of Keith, was also researching the same thing he was. Lance had met the man on one occasion and had immediately disliked him. Apparently he had been some sort of scientific prodigy, able to reveal a great deal of information on Werewolves. 

Upon the thought of Keith, Lance could only grit his teeth, beginning to read over the data presented to him. It was all different cases of people being forced to turn into wolves on the full moon. Was it due to a gravitational pull? Did Werewolves turn into wolves no matter their will due to a gravitational strength on the full moon? It was all such a confusing and ridiculous business and in tiredness, Lance could only imagine the sea being replaced by a bunch of humans, said humans all becoming a great variety of dogs when the moon grew closer.

Lance laughed at the thought.

Except, he hadn’t the chance to laugh long.

Alarms were going off.

Shiro had entered quickly, faster than Lance thought was humanly possible (then he remembered that Shiro was not exactly human). The blare of alarms deafened his ears and the bright lighting of his office was suddenly no more, Shiro having switched off the lights in his mad dash for Lance. A closet door was thrown open and Shiro hauled Lance in there. Once the two were inside, he shut the door, pulling Lance completely flush against his chest, his back towards his chest. Arms were wrapped tightly around Lance’s waist, chin placed atop one of his shoulders. It was difficult to process most things, for the alarms were loud and Shiro’s speed was equally overwhelming.

“What’s going on?”

“Lockdown.”

“Lockdown?”

“Lockdown,” Shiro repeated. He spoke softly, his voice far more akin to a growl in Lance’s ear. He shuddered (and was upset with himself because it wasn’t out of fear, either). “Something’s happened,” Shiro added. “I don’t know what, though.” Shiro then turned their positions so that Lance was further in the closet and that he was nearest towards the door. It was a difficult maneuver and Lance had nearly tripped over something, though they were soon chest to chest, Shiro’s arms still around him, head turned back to peer at the closet’s door. It had no slits to it, solid and white and plain like most other things in Lance’s office. Though Shiro kept peering at it, expecting to see something. 

“Why are we on lockdown?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know. I was outside the office when the call was given. A Werewolf might have escaped. Usually it’s why we’re on lockdown.” Shiro turned his head to peer at Lance once more. Lance’s breath caught in his throat upon seeing Shiro’s eyes. They were yellow. A vivid, moon golden that stood out in the darkness of the closet. Though light filtered from the door’s crack, it was not much, and though Lance could trace out many parts of his face, it was still incomplete. 

Lance tapped his wristband, letting it emanate a soft glow, not enough to call attention, but enough that they could see each other better, yet the glow of Shiro’s yellow eyes were ominous and when he opened his mouth to speak, Lance nearly shrieked in fear, for the other’s canines had elongated, teeth suddenly seeming more capable of tearing a man apart. Shiro was not in full transformation, yet had transformed, to a certain degree. Enough for his eyes and teeth to change. Lance silently wondered if his hands had changed as well, experimentally, he rocked his hips back, attempting to see if he could feel the sensation of nails digging into him. Shiro grunted, perhaps a bit breathlessly.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly. “This is a small enough space as it is.”

“S-sorry,” Lance said, stopping his movements. His heart hammered in his chest. There was something indescribably beautiful about Shiro in that moment. Perhaps he found it even more beautiful because Shiro had turned this way to protect  _ him _ . It was a horrifying notion, for it was considered impolite for Werewolves to betray the fact that they were Werewolves with partial transformations, yet Lance adored it. Any other Werewolf, perhaps, and he would have been scandalized. A Werewolf showing what it was beside the obvious indication of its collar was blasphemy, yet Lance knew that their circumstances voided such social niceties, and he loved it. He couldn’t help but wonder how Shiro’s teeth felt, how, if they had come out, his nails would feel in his skin. He blushed brilliantly. Now really wasn’t the time to think of such a thing, especially since his facility was on lockdown and there was probably a Werewolf gone rogue running about the premise.

Their silence had been comfortable, or, at least, as comfortable as silence between two grown men, one a Werewolf and one human, could be. Lance could swear that Shiro’s breathing was as excited as his own, and he wished to rock his hips again, to see if he had been correct in this assessment. It was best not to be so obvious, and if they might have died due to some Werewolf going rogue in the facility, then Lance wanted to try something. 

He shifted, acted as if it was due to his growing uncomfortable, hips pressing down against Shiro’s. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck since he hadn’t been doing much with them in the first place. It pressed their bodies closer, Lance’s hips shifting against Shiro’s in a small but tight movement. They were completely pressed against each other, and Lance thought it was thrilling. If Shiro expressed disdain towards this contact, he would stop. Silently, he wondered where his professionalism had gone, yet there was something about Shiro that excited him, something that was difficult to contain. He knew he would hate himself for this later, would lay in bed wondering why, out of every dumb decision he had ever made, he thought pressing up against Shiro would have been a good idea. They were on lockdown, matters were dangerous, yet he attempted to justify his actions to himself. He didn’t know when he would get a chance like this again.

Shiro breathed out unevenly, shakily. “ _ Lance _ ,” he exhaled, his grip tightening on his waist, “what are you doing?”

“Sorry,” he attempted to say casually, but his face was burning. “I’m just… trying to get comfortable. I got bored in that position, I think my legs were about to fall asleep.”

“Oh,” Shiro replied, but he didn’t believe him.

The sound of the alarms seemed irrelevant, and he had all but forgotten that they were on lockdown until he heard his office door open, until he heard footsteps. Shiro held Lance tighter than, gaze turning back towards the closet door. Lance didn’t even dare to breathe, his heart thundering in a way different than before. Now it was fear. The steps grew closer towards the closet door and Lance could hear loud, animalistic sniffing and guttural growling. He shook then, and could not help it, for whatever was on the other side of the door was violent. It was sudden, though it attempted to pry open the doors to the closet, and that was when Shiro dropped Lance. He pushed his back against the door, let it swing open, and whipped around quickly, a gun carried around his belt unholstered and pointed at the enemy. Lance scrambled back into the closet, as far as he could go, not even minding whatever objects dug into him in protest.

He gasped as he saw a hound lunge at Shiro. A full transformation. Lance had seen his first, full, Werewolf transformation. Lance heard Shiro slide back, and then gunfire, loud, unmistakable gunfire. He wished to shift forward, to better see the battle, yet he didn’t dare to. He had no idea if the other Werewolf perhaps knew Lance was there, or thought only of Shiro. Regardless, he heard a yelp, though from who, he was not certain. Blood suddenly splattered against the room’s white floors and walls, Lance could see it. A hand fled towards his mouth, covering it and fighting the sick feeling. Was it Shiro’s? Or the stranger’s? 

More gunfire was heard and Lance squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t seen anything in the first place, yet somehow, closing his eyes completely felt better, but he could still hear them, could still hear the growling, Shiro swearing, the splattering, the squishing. All of it, he could hear, as if the audio to some sick horror movie was playing right outside of his closet. He had hoped the alarms would drown them out, but it hadn’t.

Lance almost wept in relief when Shiro returned, blood-stained gun pushed into its holster. He was disheveled, hair messy, white collar dotted with red, scratched and bleeding, a gash having been torn into his side. Lance rose, ready to implore that Shiro seek first aid, though when he went over there, Shiro waved him away dismissively and Lance saw then the supernatural healing that had benefited their soldiers long ago. Already Shiro’s wound was beginning to repair itself. 

Werewolves truly were amazing.

“Are you okay?” Lance cupped Shiro’s cheeks, bringing him closer to his level. He was no longer partially transformed, gray eyes gray again and teeth normal. Though he looked tired, claw marks on his face that were also repairing. Lance traced his cheekbones with his fingers, hands shaking slightly. If anything had happened to Shiro… not once had he feared for himself. He had really only ever feared for Shiro, the idea of he himself being fatally wounded never once occurring to him. Hell, he was so concerned that even the naked corpse of a person on his office floor did not frighten him. Shiro was alright. That was all that mattered.

“Yeah,” Shiro nodded. Though he looked tired, he did not look defeated, “just need a minute to clear my head. Call someone to get this corpse out of here, it’s gonna stink up the place.”

Lance nodded, though he did not let Shiro go immediately. Shiro placed his hands over Lance’s, squeezing lightly and perhaps (Lance didn’t want to be too hopeful) affectionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Nothing like mild grinding and murder. There will hopefully be more interaction in the next chapter that may or may not straddle the border of sin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any typos you see, I finished this and was too tired to read over it. I'll most likely read over it tomorrow and make any corrections that need to be made.

Lance’s first encounter with something that was unusual had transpired in the lift to his office. There had been a Muzzled at his side, bigger than Shiro and most certainly meaner looking. Lance said nothing, watching the facility’s floor flit past his eyes through the elevator’s windows. The Muzzled sniffed loudly and Lance shuddered a bit in nervousness. He did not spend an exceptional amount of time around the Muzzled, and most sane people preferred not to. The Ruling Party was the only one to employed Muzzled, every other business that had Werewolves that displayed Muzzled tendencies (aggression, shifting impolitely, etc, etc) were within their rights to shoot the Werewolf, or send them to the Ruling Party to become Muzzled. They were dangerous Werewolves, and the most hated ones. Most Werewolves that displayed Muzzled tendencies were considered of a lower class and treated worse than the average Werewolf, it was why many turned away before they could be called for Muzzling, eventually becoming Rogues (many of the populace joked of them and called them Lone Wolves).

 

It was said that all Muzzled were waiting to become Rogues, it just took something to push them over the edge. Lance gave the Muzzled a sidelong glance, and a nervous one at that. They were far apart enough in the elevator, but it was closer to any Muzzled Lance had ever been. The Muzzled turned to look at him and sniffed again. His eyes were completely yellowed, the Muzzled not even bothering to hide certain parts of his Werewolf nature.

 

“You smell like Shirogane,” said the Muzzled then, in a deep, rumbling voice that Lance could feel reverberate through the elevator. Desperately, he waited for his floor to arrive, unable to believe that he was about to entertain a conversation with a Muzzled.

 

“Yeah, he’s my guard,” Lance replied casually.

 

“I see.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How much do you know about him?”

 

Lance frowned, quirking a brow inquisitively. This Muzzled knew Shiro? “I’m still learning,” Lance admitted. “Why, is there anything you want to tell me?”

 

The Muzzled’s face shifted in such a way that Lance knew he was grinning. “If he hasn’t told you anything, then it’s not my place to say.”

 

“If you know anything…”

 

“I have to respect privacy,” interjected the Muzzled, raising a large hand to stop Lance from speaking. Though from the way he spoke, he didn’t care about privacy, only teasing.

 

The elevator’s doors opened, and with that, he moved to step out, before pausing.

 

“You don’t know everything about Shirogane. He’s not as nice as he looks.”

 

Before Lance could stop him, the Muzzled walked through and the elevator’s doors closed.

 

* * *

 

Lance could not look at Shiro easily. The Muzzled’s words had been playing throughout his head the entire work day, and he had seen so little of Shiro. Shiro had needed to undergo psychological testing. Lance had taken a psychological test after the lockdown, as well, and though shaken, he had been tested with flying colors, able to still work without the assignment of medication. Werewolves, however, underwent more rigorous psychological testing, the belief being that if they killed one of their own, the guilt would turn them Muzzled and Rogue, that all Werewolves shared the same pack mentality and that you needed to watch them carefully before they decided they want to defect.

 

Which was why Lance was relieved to see Shiro in good health and smiling, waving him over. He reflected briefly on what the Muzzled had said and how Shiro was not as nice as he looked, but Shiro was kind. Shiro had protected him, he reasoned with himself, and if he hadn’t been nice before, then he was now, and really the present was the best time to focus on. Perhaps he was also biased, cursed to some sort of fatal attraction. That was what they called humans who developed romantic feelings for Werewolves, people who had a Fatal Attraction. There were also ruder words, such as Dog Fucker, Dog Handler, Mutt Masher, and more things that Lance couldn’t think of and wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

 

Love was love, or, something like that. People said love was love yet secretly turned up their noses at a Werewolf-human relationship, and it was presumptuous of him to even think that Shiro thought of him that way, though from how he had reacted from the closet, Lance couldn’t help but wonder…

 

“Are you okay? You’re spacing out.”

 

“Huh?” Lance smiled. “Yeah, I’m cool, just thinkin’ about a few things. Should we head out?”

 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

 

In truth, Lance had been mulling over an idea. They needed to relieve stress and work had been so tiring that he knew exactly how to do so. After becoming a regular citizen and shifting away from the life of a college student, he really hadn’t the time, though one thing that he had done often was party. If there was one thing Lance McClain had been known for, it was that he could  _ party _ , and people appreciated that. He was twenty-five now and somehow felt older and wiser than the nineteen-year-old who had taken body shots off of people without a care in the world and could have most likely participated within some sort of professional beer-ponging league. As depressing as the thought was, he had grown tame, almost boring throughout the years, and with the brush up with death after the lockdown, he had thought that maybe visiting a club was in order, to get his blood flowing and reminding him that he was alive.

 

Besides, he had grown weary of poring over files upon files of Werewolf data. He was human, he needed a break, and he got the feeling that Shiro did too.

 

“So, I was thinking,” Lance began as the facility’s doors opened and they stepped out. “We should go clubbin’.”

 

Shiro snorted, “I’m thirty, Lance, clubs aren’t really my scene anymore. And I’m a Werewolf. There aren’t a lot of Werewolf-friendly clubs that aren’t on the seedier part of town.”

 

Lance grinned, “no, no, I’ve been planning this. I left my fancy, Ruling Party bracelet behind and everything, and I found this club that is okay with Werewolves and humans in the same spot. It’s not on that much of the bad side of town, either.”

 

Shiro groaned aloud, “why do you want me to come with you again?”

 

He nudged the Werewolf, grinning brightly, “we’re both stressed out after the lockdown thing, we’ve both gone under psychological tests to make sure we haven’t cracked, and dancing it out is just what we need.”

 

“You were a party boy back in college, weren’t you?”

 

“That easy to tell?”

 

“You’ve got this look in your eyes that says  _ I’ll take body shots off of you for free _ .”

 

“I will. Wanna show me what’s under your shirt, Shiro?”

 

The Werewolf blushed and coughed into his sleeve, looking away. “I’m not doing much,” he said then. “Lead the way. Are we taking a cab? What’s the plan?”

 

“Leave it all to me,” Lance replied.

* * *

 

The Atlantis was a popular club and one of the few in the Ruling Party’s nation that allowed Werewolf-human partying. Segregation itself wasn’t legal, though there were bouncers that would abuse Werewolves if they attempted to enter certain clubs and even if the Werewolves filed a complaint, the judges wouldn’t change a thing. The system was tilted in favor of humans, no matter what. Werewolves were second class citizens, something Lance had been forced to contemplate a lot recently after his budding interest in Shiro.

 

The Atlantis, however, was a haven of sorts and though it wasn’t in the high end of town, it was still a nice enough club. Well, as nice as a club could be. Its motif was oceanic, neon blue lights everywhere, the side of the stairs part of some sort of waterfall display, fish tanks embedded into the walls, drinks with beach themes and so on and so forth. Lance could feel his blood flowing about being in a club. It was familiar territory, and it hadn’t exactly been his first time in The Atlantis, either. He had gone there before as a college kid, had made a joke about going home with a Werewolf. Not that he ever had, though when he had been young and stupid, he had thought that maybe getting fucked out by a Werewolf would have been interesting. Though such had been naive hope and excitement, the conditioning of working adults eventually changing his mind about Werewolf-human relations, and should he have been honest with himself, there was only one Werewolf he would have liked to have gone home with nowadays.

 

He looked towards Shiro’s, whose gaze had never sat still. His shoulders were tensed, teeth gritted. He looked as if he required a few drinks in him and Lance quickly dragged him towards the bar’s counter. When he asked Shiro what he wanted to drink, he said that anything would do, so Lance ordered him a drink not too strong, yet perhaps strong enough to loosen him up. The bartender slid the glass over, the liquid in it blue and glowing, brought out from the darkness of the club. Lance nodded his head slightly to the music, the bass thrumming loudly throughout the premise. He wished to laugh and get on the dancefloor and live up to his old title of being a champion grinder (another embarrassing title from college, they had always said that Lance moved like water) but he couldn’t leave Shiro alone. Shiro, who was clearly not comfortable and gripping his glass with such a force that Lance could not help but worry that the thing might shatter. He inhaled, clasping one of Shiro’s shoulders in concern, guilt rooting itself within him. If Shiro was distressed, then it was his fault, though he was surprised to seeing Shiro knock back the shot. Lance wouldn’t have advised that (for he was a responsible party-goer who knew better than doing  _ that _ , many unfortunate occurrences of vomiting into toilets teaching him such) yet he knew he couldn’t have stopped Shiro even if he tried. Shiro had size, strength, and even Werewolf strength over him. He could have easily lifted Lance and thrown him as easily as one would have thrown a frisbee.

 

“How’re you holdin’ up?” Lance asked, not even having touched his own drink yet (which was a glowing green).

 

“Better,” Shiro exhaled, flashing Lance a weak smile. Perhaps he had made a mistake in inviting him, perhaps it was only Lance who had needed to relieve stress through a good party. 

 

“Are you okay? What’s got you stressed out? If this is too much, Shiro, then we can always bounce…”

 

Shiro shook his head, “no, no, I need to get used to this. I’m just… I don’t spend a lot of time around my own kind, and they’re all around here and the smell’s hitting me a bit hard. I can do this, Lance, I’m glad you invited me out but I just… need a minute…”

 

Lance quirked a brow, “you avoid your own kind?”

 

“As much as I can.”

 

From the way Shiro spoke, it was best not to question it.

 

“You can go on ahead and dance, I’ve seen you eyeing up the dancefloor. It’s okay.”

 

“Nuh-uh, I came here to show you a good time and God damn it, Takashi Shirogane, I’m gonna show you a good time. Do you dance?”

 

“Not often.”

 

“Do you know how to dance?”

 

“A little bit.”

 

“Do you have shame?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Get rid of it.”

 

“What?”

 

“For now,” Lance laughed. “Get rid of your shame for now! You’re at a club and shame doesn’t exist here. People do weird stuff in bathrooms and even on the dance floor. Besides, you said it yourself, you don’t come here often, so even if you embarrass yourself here tonight, the people here to see it you might not ever see again, and if you do, they’re probably all so piss drunk they won’t even remember.”

 

Lance rose from his stool and extended a hand for Shiro to take, “if you’re not comfortable, you can always back out. Like I said, we can leave, but I don’t want you holding back here, either. This isn’t work. You don’t have to play cool and tough Mr. Werewolf Guard around me. For now, you can just be yourself.”

 

Shiro took his hand and nodded, his grip was tight, the palm of his human hand sweaty, though he permitted Lance to lead him to the dancefloor.

 

The bass had not dimmed its noise, the song slow and a grinding one. The lyrics were explicit and lewd, though Lance wasn’t sure what he had expected. Shiro let go of Lance’s hand once they arrived, standing uncertainly, staring at the dancers around him, before imitating how they moved and it was then that Lance learned that Shiro could move slowly. The way he was rocking his hips to the beat of the dance was criminal and the worst part about the entire situation, was that he was somehow adorably embarrassed, face a bit flushed and smiling just as uncertainly. 

 

“Am I doing this right?”

 

“I’ll say.”

 

Lance moved closer to Shiro, remembering the closet incident. He moved so that he was close to Shiro, back facing him as he also danced, his wild college times coming back to him and moving naturally to the music. He closed his eyes, letting it carry him through each sway of his hips and each roll of his body. Dancing had always been natural for Lance, something he enjoyed and for a moment, he forgot all about his difficult work, had forgotten everything that the Muzzled had said to him, and focused only on the music and Shiro. Hands suddenly grasped his hips and he knew it to be Shiro, for one hand was cooler than the other. Knowing Shiro, he must have been attempting to emulate one of the other dancers, for he hadn’t pressed his hips against Lance’s in a suggestive manner. It was just like Shiro to reserve a certain amount of politeness, even through a grinding song in a club. Lance rocked his hips back, letting his posterior press against Shiro’s crotch. It was risky, everything that was happening was risky, he wasn’t sure how Shiro would respond. He moved his hips back to the beat of the music, rolling back against Shiro. The Werewolf’s grip tightened on his hips, as gasp being drawn from him. Lance didn’t stop this time. They weren’t on lockdown, nothing was happening. He wasn’t even the slightest bit buzzed and perhaps that was the most embarrassing part about the situation. If he was drunk, he could have blamed the alcohol.

 

But he couldn’t have.

 

He was completely sober and prying Shiro’s hands off of him. He was completely sober and pressing chest to chest with him, rocking his hips down against Shiro. He wasn’t sure how buzzed Shiro was, but he knew that the Werewolf was well within his mental functions without the whole system being slowed. Shiro grabbed Lance’s hips again and what he did next sent a gasp throughout Lance, similar in surprise and enjoyment like Shiro’s earlier.

 

Shiro grinded against him in return, and that was it for Lance. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck, pressing himself as close as possible, moving against his body desperately. Shiro growled into his ear and Lance knew it was over for him then. Shiro was so close, breathing hitched in his ear. Lance forced himself further back against him, rubbing them together and delighting in the distressed noise Shiro made in his ear. He was grinding with a Werewolf and arousing him. There were so many things wrong with their present situation, yet Shiro pushed his hands up Lance’s shirt, dragging his nails along the sensitive skin of his waist and Lance shuddered out a quiet moan. Shiro kissed his ear before sinking his teeth in with canines that felt far too sharp to be human. Had Shiro brought out certain teeth just for Lance? His knees went weak at the thought, and he could feel Shiro’s grip upon him tighten.

 

“Oh God, Shiro,” Lance groaned, feeling Shiro’s hands roam over him, dipping between his thighs and cupping his ass. Lance gave Shiro a similar treatment, squeezing the Werewolf’s ass and being rewarded a half-strangled growl and groan that was perhaps the most attractive noise Lance had ever heard. Shiro kissed along the side of Lance’s neck, sharpened teeth grazing along his throat. Lance tilted his head back for him, rutting against him desperately. He was hard and he could most certainly feel Shiro within a similar state, and when he regarded Shiro, his eyes were glowing yellow. He was just as excited as Lance was. His heart flipped within his chest excitedly.

 

“We should get out of here,” Lance breathed.

 

“Yes, please.”

  
And Lance didn’t even want to think about whether or not it was a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like for all of you to take me to church for writing this sin and writing sin for the next chapter.


	5. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn. This chapter is just porn. Them gettin' down n' dirty. Down n' dirty with feelings.

There were a million and one things wrong with what Lance was doing. The cab ride had been both exciting and not quick enough and it had taken every bit of restraint the both of them held not to climb onto each other in the middle of the elevator. Their position at current was no better, Shiro flat on his back on his bed with Lance atop him, hands gliding along Shiro’s chest as he silently decided how they ought to have proceeded. Everything seemed to be a blur, everything seemed to be so exciting. Lance’s breathing was labored, arousal still within his pants, almost at full attention. He rolled his hips back only to hear Shiro cry out in another guttural moan. Lance held the distinct impression that he would never tire of its sound.

 

“I want to ride you,” said Lance, with the solemn finality best reserved for embracing the call of duty. The call of duty being, riding Shiro into the sunset. Shiro panted in response, pupils blown and the rings of his irises glowing yellow. Lance knew he couldn’t have put it into any of his Werewolf reports, but he silently made a note that their eyes glowed when aroused and though some might have found it unsettling, Lance found it oddly attractive.

 

“Are you sure about this,” Shiro breathed. “This… this shouldn’t be allowed… they… it’s not accepted for a reason.” The Werewolf was just as aroused as he was, but Shiro was a logical person. “You don’t want this with me,” he explained carefully.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Because--”

 

“Because you’re a Werewolf?” Lance challenged, leaning in, hands gripping the collar of Shiro’s shirt. He pressed open mouthed kisses along his jawline. “I don’t care,” Lance said. “I didn’t drink back in The Atlantis. Every decision I’m making is sober, Shiro. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to regret this.”

 

“I’m a Werewolf,” he insisted.

 

“I don’t care,” Lance repeated. He bit Shiro’s ear, and Shiro moaned out. “If you don’t want this,” Lance began, “then let me know, because I’m not going to force you into anything. But if you’re scared of me regretting this--regretting you--then it’s an irrational worry. I want you,  _ Takashi _ .”

 

The use of his first name seemed to do Shiro in, groaning softly, face flushing a deep crimson. “I’ve got a weird body,” he said then. “Scars, everywhere,” he explained. “And I mean,  _ everywhere _ , they’re not pretty, Lance.”

 

“I doubt it,” Lance said, beginning to undo the buttons to Shiro’s shirt, having leaned back upright enough to accomplish such a task. 

 

“What?”

 

“You’re beautiful, Shiro.” Lance trailed kisses along his neck, then his collarbone, tracing his attention back to Shiro’s chest. A tongue, experimentally, flicked over one of Shiro’s nipples, which hardened appreciatively under the attention and won another breathy groan from the Werewolf. Lance pinched his other nipple, reveling in the sounds Shiro made in reply. He was surprised to feel Shiro run his hands over his thighs, however, and he could not help but whine when the Werewolf squeezed. It was embarrassing, though whenever Shiro touched him, he felt as if he were on fire.

 

“You wanted to ride me?” Shiro asked in a daze.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Get off then.”

 

Lance obeyed, and Shiro shifted from under him, standing on the floor and off the bed to undress. His hands were trembling. Even the prosthetic. He was excited. Lance soon followed suit. Shiro had the decency to discard his clothing in a neat pile, where Lance had cast it aside without thought. When they returned to the bed, Shiro looked nervous, almost as if he were hunching in upon himself to hide his form. Lance’s room was dark, though the lone, large window in his room did bring in the city’s illumination, as did the turquoise light of an alarm clock. It was enough light, through the messy room, to see Shiro’s scars. Shiro hadn’t lied when he had said there were many. Scars of every shape and size seemed to litter his body, some jagged, some burn wounds, and so on and so forth. The greatest scar was one that ran along his chest and seemed to snake around a bit towards his side.

 

Lance moved closer, fingers gingerly tracing the scars. Shiro stiffened, as if to push Lance away, though Lance’s mouth latched onto one of the scars upon Shiro’s shoulders, a deep burn wound. He kissed the scar appreciatively, giving Shiro a sidelong glance, who only flushed deeply. One of Shiro’s hands found his way in his hair, stroking it gently despite what they were about to do. Lance wasn’t sure if he was in love with Shiro. He wasn’t sure how much of his feelings were lust and how much love, though the gesture had made Lance love him more, and perhaps that was the most dangerous thing.

 

Humans often fucked Werewolves. Werewolves, often times, were prostitutes. No one cared if someone had intercourse with a Werewolf. Such carnal urges were completely normal, it was the development of affection that was dangerous. Lance knew that he was straddling the border of something dangerous, being so attracted to Shiro, but he couldn’t help it, and when he saw Shiro’s gratitude at Lance’s appreciation for his scars, he knew then that there was no going back. Even if this was all a product of lust, Lance knew he could learn to love Shiro, for Shiro was kind and beautiful and Lance already knew that he was half in love with him, anyways.

 

Shiro pulled him in for a kiss. It was deep, perhaps a bit messy, the Werwolf pushing his tongue in and Lance sliding his own against his in greedy desire. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck, bare chests pressed together as Shiro opened his legs for Lance to slide in and fit between them. He knew what they were about to do, yet the intimate exposure of being naked to one another seemed far more profound than what they were about to do. 

 

The kiss lasted as long as they had air, and didn’t even stop then. It was hungry, full of desire, each time they returned. It was one of passion and Lance felt dizzy, moaning each time as Shiro licked at his mouth and Lance could have sworn he’d heard Shiro groan in return. Hands roamed each other’s body, getting to know one another, and perhaps that was the most intimate thing about it all.

 

“I’m not going to regret this,” Lance promised against Shiro’s lips as they pulled away for the fourth time.

 

“Okay,” Shiro nodded, eyes glowing brighter than they had before.

 

He was beautiful.

 

Lance moved off of Shiro, opening the drawer to his nightstand and finding a bottle of lube. It had been a while since he had used it, a remnant to his partying days. Lance hadn’t slept around freely, though sex had happened enough to warrant him keeping lube on him. It had been months since he’d last opened the bottle and he worried he was a bit rusty. Masturbation had consisted of only his dick, really. He hadn’t prodded fingers into his entrance in a while. 

 

“Do you want to get me ready?” Lance asked, grinning at Shiro who only averted his gaze in embarrassment.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Shiro replied.

 

Lance nodded. Shiro seemed the sort so terrified of handling others that he didn’t want to press the issue. He squirted the lube into his hands, rubbing it between his hands to warm it. He shuddered at the thought of having anything in him. It hadn’t been eons, though it hadn’t been yesterday, either. He inhaled to steady and relax himself, standing on his knees to prepare himself. Shiro shifted closer, placing both of his hands on Lance’s waist, tracing gentle circles against it. When Lance looked down at Shiro, as if to ask what he was doing, the Werewolf only smiled sweetly.

 

“I’m keeping you calm.”

 

Lance’s heart flipped in his chest.

 

He nodded, not sure of what to say to that and gingerly began to push a finger into himself, hissing at the unpleasant and foreign feeling. He rocked his hips a bit back against his own finger, as if silently ordering his body to acclimate to the sensation and find pleasure in it once more. Shiro regarded him with concern, though Lance only smiled reassuring, working the first finger in a bit deeper.

 

“I’m,” he gulped, “ _ fuck _ , I’m fine, Shiro.” He laughed nervously, relieved once he got down to the knuckle. He waited a few moments, relieved to feel himself acclimating to the feeling more. Soon, he began to work the second finger in, his body seeming to accept it more easily. Once such was accomplished, he began to scissor himself open wider, this time groaning out in pleasure. 

 

“Guess you got it, huh?” Lance could hear the smile in Shiro’s voice.

 

“Huh? Y-yeah,  _ mmmph _ …” He let himself find comfort in the feeling and embraced the wave of pleasure, pushing deeper into himself until he hit a sweet spot that drew a cracked moan. Hesitantly, he drew his fingers out. Best to let Shiro do the rest of the work.

 

Shiro sat properly, reaching for the bottle of lube and carefully lubing up his member. Lance hadn’t minded it much, and could only blush. Shiro was well endowed. Many of those that had sex with male Werewolves made jokes that they were well endowed and that was where the appeal lay, though Lance hadn’t believed it. He gave a low whistle, which made Shiro blush considerably once more. He should have taken a Werewolf home sooner.

 

Once Shiro looked to be done with such preparations, Lance settled onto his lap, facing him, getting excited at the thought of riding Shiro. Slowly, he lowered himself, the head of Shiro’s member pushing against his entrance. Shiro had his hand on Lance’s waist to secure and steady him, as if to assist in easing him down. Lance’s heart was racing. Shiro was so incredibly considerate. Lance had done one-night-stands in the past, had had it done to him roughly. Though it was not bad to be rough, to be pushed into the sheets and not think and feel, there was something more romantic and intimate about gentleness.

 

Lance hissed slightly the lower he got onto Shiro, but never once did the Werewolf rush him, letting him take it at his own pace as he would until he bottomed out. Even when Lance bottomed out and did not roll his hips right away, Shiro did not complain, hissing out and gripping Lance’s waist tightly.

 

“H-hold on,” he breathed unsteadily. “D-don’t move yet,” he gasped. “I don’t want to come this early,  _ fuck _ , Lance.”

 

Equally imbalanced, Lance could not help but grin. There was something satisfying about hearing Shiro swear, something satisfying in the way he pushed his head back against the headboard. There was something satisfying in the way his adam’s apple bobbed with a harsh swallow. Though it stung a bit still to have something in him, Shiro had been gentle enough to where he had acclimated quickly. While Shiro was distracted and calming himself, Lance rolled forward and delighted in the deep moan Shiro let out.

 

“You can fuck me now, Shiro.”

 

Shiro nodded, taking his prosthetic hand off of Lance’s hip. Lance had noticed Shiro didn’t seem to care much for it and held a most interesting idea. He took the prosthetic and pushed the fingers into his mouth, tongue sliding in between Shiro’s fingers. Over, around, he moved his tongue around his fingers every way it would permit.

 

The Werewolf moaned out, “you’re going to kill me!” he gasped. 

 

His hips pushed up into Lance, who could only let out a choked out moan from around Shiro’s fingers. Lance ground back down against Shiro while Shiro pushed up, a ruthless rhythm established, each sound escaping them loud and sinful from their groans to the sound of skin meeting skin. It took Lance everything not to choke around Shiro’s feelings, yet even that thought let him intrigued. Shiro forced himself up against Lance once more, pistoning into him mercilessly where Lance met it with gusto. If he screamed when Shiro suddenly grabbed his leaking dick, he was unable to tell. He  _ did _ hear a desperate, high-pitched noise that he did not want to accept was his own voice when Shiro thumbed the slit of his dick, smearing pre-cum around him.

 

Shiro drew his prosthetic out of Lance’s mouth, who found himself sorry at the loss until he felt Shiro push into his prostate. He was nearly seeing stars then, slack-jawed and bouncing on Shiro’s cock desperately.

 

“Oh my god, Shiro,  _ right there! _ ” He rolled his hips down desperately to feel Shiro against him in that spot, and Shiro obliged, moaning something intelligible himself, slamming into Lance without mercy, who took everything he gave him.

 

“Shiro, Shiro, Shiro,” Lanced echoed, almost as if it were a prayer. He wanted this, needed this.

 

“Lance, Lance, Lance,” Shiro returned, chest rising and falling with each shaken breath.

 

Shiro squeezed Lance’s member and Lance was gone, spurting cum onto them both,

 

“ _ Takashi! _ ”

 

It seemed that was enough to subdue Shiro, the Werewolf releasing into him, head slamming back against the headboard as he cried out Lance’s name.

 

They rested like that for a few moments before Lance got off of Shiro, laying down and cuddling up to his side, his legs feeling weak.

 

“Oh my God,” Shiro frowned. “I came in you, oh my God, Lance, I’m so sorry, I’m so--”

 

“Don’t think about it,” Lance mumbled sleepily, burying his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck.

 

Shiro was about to protest further, but Lance pushed a finger to his lips.

 

“I have a shower,” Lance insisted. “It’s okay.”

 

The Werewolf nodded, turning onto his side, pulling Lance against him so that they were spooning. It was Shiro’s turn to bury his face into Lance. He inhaled his scent and let out a contented noise. And that was how they lay, until they both fell asleep.

  
In that moment, they both did not think of the trials and tribulations on the horizon.


	6. Morning

Lance awoke to the sound of screaming and something being dropped. A hand stretched out towards the side of the bed, seeking warmth yet finding only emptiness. It was still vaguely warm, however, as if its occupant had left only recently. Lance sat upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and wincing at the full feeling between his legs. Though the night before had indeed been pleasurable, there was a gentle tightening of regret that left to an uncomfortable feeling inside of him, if only due to their lacking a condom. He quickly dressed, however, throwing on a robe and shoving his feet into his slippers.

 

Finding the source of the screaming had been easy. Shiro had at least had the decency to put on his boxers and his shirt (though unbuttoned, Lance soon realized) when answering the door. On the other side of the door, in the hall, stood Hunk. Lance had forgotten that he had invited Hunk over this weekend. Quickly, he strode over, gently nudging Shiro aside (rewarded with a puzzled expression) and pulled Hunk inside.

 

“There’s a Werewolf.”

 

“Yeah,” said Lance awkwardly.

 

“Is that the one you were telling me about?”

 

Lance had had many a phone conversation with Shiro as the topic of conversation. The Werewolf flushed upon hearing the topic of conversation. Lance knew that Hunk would not have been appalled by his being with a Werewolf, since he himself was also with a Werewolf woman named Shay. That, and Hunk was a naturally kind person, seemingly that of sunshine. He was always opening to listening and Lance sincerely valued him as a friend. It was why he recounted to him most things. Yet Lance had never betrayed interest sleeping with a Werewolf, and it was very obvious what the two had done. 

 

“Yeah,” Lance repeated awkwardly. Hunk could only nod, appraising Shiro, his own gaze sweeping over the Werewolf’s form. Lance could see Hunk flush slightly. 

 

“I should get going,” Shiro said, a hand outstretching to ruffle Lance’s hair. He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to do something more, but he quickly went towards Lance’s room, dressed himself, and was out the door, leaving only for Hunk and Lance to stare at each other. As for what Hunk had dropped, it had been various breakfast items he had no doubt made himself.

 

“I’ll explain everything,” Lance said, watching Shiro close the door after him (while carefully stepping over spilt coffee), “just give me a second to hose off.”

 

* * *

 

“So,” Hunk began, apron tied around his waist as he began to prepare breakfast with the supplies in Lance’s kitchen. Lance sat at the counter, cheek in hand as he watched Hunk work. They hadn’t met face to face often after Lance had gotten his job with the Ruling Party. Hunk’s work as an engineer and his own held conflicting schedules, which was why Lance had been excited days earlier to have Hunk over for breakfast.

 

Though fucking a Werewolf the night before hadn’t been part of the plan.

 

“You and Shiro, huh?” he asked, paying careful attention to the bacon he was frying. “Werewolf relationships aren’t easy, you know. Is this a fling? Testing the other side, seeing what it’s like, trying the forbidden fruit. Or are you two actually…? If so, are you going to hide it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lance admitted. “He’s… I like him a lot. I don’t want it to be a fling, Shiro isn’t the kind of guy to let it be a fling, I think. He’s too honest, too sweet, too nice. He wouldn’t sleep with someone if he didn’t feel anything for them. I’m older now, anyways.” Lance yawned. “I’m not the same kid I was in college. I can’t just sleep around with people anymore.”

 

“You didn’t sleep around that much,” Hunk amended, shifting to pay attention to the pancakes he was making, flipping them carefully. “You make it sound like every party you went to it was with the intention of hooking up. Yeah, you got action more than other people, but you weren’t the town bicycle, Lance.”

 

Lance and Hunk had met their freshman year of college as roommates. They had formed an unshakable bond since then. Lance could not help but laugh a bit at the “town bicycle” comment. “Town bicycle? What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Everyone rides you, uses you. You know, like a bicycle.” Hunk turned off the part of the stove that had the bacon on it, finishing up his time with the pancakes. “Lance, can you get the orange juice?”

 

Lance nodded, even if Hunk couldn’t see it, swinging his legs over the counter and pressing his feet against the floor in a neat maneuver. He fulfilled Hunk’s request, thoughtfully contemplating Shiro still. He placed the orange juice on the counter near Hunk, getting two glasses, as well. “I don’t want this to be a fling, I really don’t. He’s a nice guy, but there’s still a lot I don’t know about him.”

 

“Being with him, unless you hide it, won’t be easy. Even if you’re hiding it, it’s still not going to be easy.” Hunk opened a cabinet with familiarity, placing plates on the counter and distributing food soon after. “You know how people think about Werewolf relationships. Always for pleasure, never for love. People always give me and Shay dirty looks when we head out because of what she is. That doesn’t stop us, it’s never going to, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy living in a world where people look at the person you love like they’re a monster.”

 

Hunk was usually a bright person, so hearing the issues he held was new. He seemed so unburdened normally. Lance took his plate and juice, sitting back at the counter (this time walking around it instead of sliding over it), only to be greeted with Hunk sitting on the stool next to him shortly after. Lance thoughtfully nibbled on a slice of bacon, watching Hunk drown his pancakes in maple syrup (something Lance kept specifically for Hunk’s visits). “You and Shay are engaged, right?”

 

“Yeah, dude,” Hunk replied with a mouthful of pancakes.

 

“Is that legal?”

 

Hunk held up a finger, shoveling more pancake into his mouth before swallowing and answering. “Yeah, it’s legal. It’s not liked, but it’s legal. I’m just worried about you, Lance. I don’t know if you’re… it’s hard, is what I’m saying. Are you really serious about Shiro?”

 

Lance reflected on the night before and blushed before nodding. “I think… I think I am. You only saw him for a little bit, Hunk, but he’s… he’s really something.”

 

Hunk smiled then, fork placed down onto the table. “I can’t scold you about Werewolf relationships. I’m in one, but you get this look on your face whenever you talk about Shiro. I can tell you’re serious. I was ready to yell at you, bro, ready to tell you that screwing a Werewolf in a fling was reckless, but you’re serious.”

 

“I’ve been telling you I’m serious.” Lance polished off a slice of bacon before digging into his pancakes, lightly coating them in regular syrup. “I like Shiro a lot. He’s nice, steady, and reliable. He’s considerate, too. Everything he does is considerate.”

 

“If you two date, are you going to keep it a secret?”

 

“I… don’t know. I don’t want to.”

 

“Seriously, be careful. I can support this. I don’t know if I like Shiro yet, but he did look at you a certain way.”

 

“He did?”

 

“Yeah, like for a second I wasn’t there and it was just you.”

  
Lance’s heart leapt in his chest. He needed to know what they were, where the night before had left them. If Shiro had truly looked at him in such a fashion, then it was better late than never. He absolved to call Shiro after Hunk left and to perhaps arrange a second date.

They needed to talk about what they were going to become.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the prologue! But yes more Shance and actually multi-chapter.


End file.
